


The Glaze Phase: Choclatine Edition

by plant_boi_potter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bisexual Harry Potter, Elderly Lesbians, Endgame: Drarry, Fluff, Long-Haired Draco Malfoy, M/M, Magpies, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Superstition, Victorian Flower Language, birdhouses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plant_boi_potter/pseuds/plant_boi_potter
Summary: One for sorrow,Two for joy,Three for a girl,Four for a boy,Five for silver,Six for gold,Seven for a secret, never to be told
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	The Glaze Phase: Choclatine Edition

One for Sorrow

_ According to superstition, the number of magpies you see tells if you will have good or bad luck _ ; the first magpie arrived on Harry’s doorstep in early summer. It took residence near the guttering, the one that cut him off from his neighbours; the right hand side, number 13. 

Harry had never really been superstitious, especially after the disaster that was his Divination lessons. So, instead of moving the nesting magpie, he bought some bird seed and hoped for the best. 

The magpie stayed and Harry thought nothing of it.   
  


Alternatively, he carried on with life as normal. He clenched his teeth through his long hours at the Ministry, bought Ginny those sweet pastries from the bakery on the way home and phoned Teddy from across the ocean every weekend. He couldn’t complain about any of it really. 

* * *

  
In late May, Ginny broke up with him.

He could envision it so clearly, if he just stood on the pavement, staring at nothing for a beat too long: the new coat of paint they’d splashed onto the crumbling stones of number 12 was already peeling, leaving little scaley cracks where you could see the dull brown brick beneath. From the road it had looked like the back of a dragon. 

He’d been whistling, barely worrying about the racket his keys were making while he jimmied them in the lock, smiling down at the scrapes and scratches along the backplate; reminiscing about times gone by. 

“Gin, I’m home.” He didn’t even have to tell her he’d gotten two  _ Pain au Chocolats;  _ one for each of them,  he’d been a regular customer at  _ the Glaze Phase _ since twenty two. (He tried to pretend it didn’t show).

He should have sensed something was off in the way her shoulders sagged. In the way her hands folded over themselves, running her hands over her knuckles as if it were the first time she was feeling skin there.

That was the benefit of hindsight, he supposed.   
  


“Harry.” Ginny’s voice sounded far away, without the usual harassed undertone that all Pro Quidditch players carried somewhere within themselves - he’d once asked Viktor Krum about it and it was, apparently, normal. 

  
It was almost like Ginny had spelled herself under a cloud of despair. Although she sat upright at the kitchen island, she looked  _ deflated, _ somehow. It was almost imperceptible, the way her collarbone had sharpened, her muscles relaxed. 

  
Harry carefully set down the white paper bag of warm, flaky bread, cringing at how loud the sound was in the quiet of the house. “How are you holding up?”

And with that, Ginny crumpled. Her face folding quietly in on itself, tears running slowly down her full cheeks until she lifted her hand, with all the effort in the world, to wipe them away. 

“How could you?”

They’d never argued like this. There was a pillowy softness to the whole thing, a feeling of surrealism.

Harry’s fights with Ginny and vice versa had always been tangible, like an exploding star, dying as quickly as it had come. 

Their love, Harry recognised, was like a Phoenix, although he couldn’t quite explain what that meant when he said it, to his friends or his colleagues. He just knew. 

Until he didn’t. 

And at that moment, he really didn’t. 

It had never been perfect, of course it hadn’t, relationships were always push and pull, an investment. He just thought he’d invested in the right person. 

Instead of voicing all of this, Harry eased himself onto a bar stool - part of the mismatched set Ginny had fallen in love with on the side of the road when shopping in Diagon. 

“Please, Harry! They look so cold and unloved!” He would have thought she was talking about a brood of Brownies if he hadn’t been holding her hand at the time.

He felt the barstool dip and winced. If he and his girlfriend swapped places he was sure the stool would have barely groaned under her weight. 

“How could I- what?”

“You know what you did.” The way Ginny was glaring daggers at him, Harry really did feel like he should know what he’d done but his mind was blank. A dizzying blankness that gave him tunnel vision to the woman in front of him. “You promised you’d consider it - no matter how you... Harry you promised-” 

_ Oh.  _

The crack in Ginny’s voice was palpable in the deafening quiet. The lines around her eyes were deep, the crease in her forehead deeper. She bowed forward, as if to hide her face in hair she didn’t have anymore. Harry remembered she used to do the same thing in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, before they dated. 

A physical weight could be felt growing in his chest before she even said the words: “I think we need some time apart.” 

* * *

  
His response, at the time, had been a quiet “ _Okay_.”   
  


For Harry, that was the beginning of the end with Ginny Weasley.

She’d already packed her bags that night, but he hadn’t realised until much later, when he was rummaging around for a suitcase. When he realised it was gone, and the implications of it all, he collapsed all over again, sinking down on his knees at the far corner of the attic. A single, listless breath emerging from his mouth. 

The second magpie had alighted on his porch a month later, eventually making its home on his window ledges. All of them. He watched it every morning while on the way to work as it settled on each ledge in turn, it’s black and white feathers lifting slightly as it settled, an odd imitation of a goodbye. 

Two for Joy

Harry didn’t realise he’d started waving to the magpie until the elderly couple from Number 28 asked him about it. They leaned on each other, arm in arm, watching the magpie as it chirped, wheeling through the sky to alight on the ledge outside of Harry’s bedroom window. 

One of the women smiled at Harry as he stumbled over his words, taking her partners long plait in her hands and twisting it through her fingers. “I saw you with that girl the other day, the redhead?”

“Ginny? Yeah, we’re, uh, friends.” 

The women glanced at each other but didn’t say anything. 

Harry scratched behind his ear, a nervous habit of his that would result in irritation if he wasn’t careful. It was a self-conscious twitch to automatically move his hair to hide it. 

“If you ever want to talk about it, you know where we are.” The woman stopped playing with her partner's plait, leaving her hand resting on the small of her back instead as she angled her head towards number 28, her short, shaggy hair flying around her face as she turned.

A hot flush spread across his cheeks and down his neck as he watched the old women link hands, the thin skin looking oddly beautiful in all its fragility. “I’ve seen you around - on my way to work,” he said quickly, trying not to sound too weird. “How did you manage to…” He gestured widely, trying to encompass everything he meant by a mere movement of hands.   
  


* * *

Their front garden was the mirror image of his, small and pokey, with the same wrought iron fencing that cut them off from the traffic laden street. The difference was the flowers. Where Harry had grey concrete, number 28 was an array of corncockles, orchids and columbines; the entire space filled to the brim with purple. 

The woman with the plait shrugged. “We’re responsible for our own happiness first.” She unclasped her hand, holding it out for Harry to shake. “I’m Joan, this is my girlfriend, Maureen.”

Harry grasped Joan’s hand, surprised at her firm grip. “You aren’t married?” 

“No, we aren’t.” Joan did the talking as Maureen took Harry’s hand in hers, shaking it gently. “We never felt the need to get married to know we loved each other,” Joan gazed lovingly at her girlfriend for a moment, “but if she ever wanted to… I’d ask her to marry me in a heartbeat.” 

Harry thought about them at moments throughout the day, they’d barely had a conversation yet he felt different, lighter, somehow.

He didn’t want to get married, and that was okay. Ginny did want to get married, and that was okay too. She just didn’t want to make Harry marry her, making someone else unhappy so she could feel comfortable wasn’t how Ginny functioned. Harry respected her for that.

As he waited in line at  _ the Glaze Phase _ he thought again about the way Ginny had run her fingers over one another, feeling for a ring that wasn’t there. 

“ _ Pain au Chocolat,  _ sir?” The girl behind the counter sounded very bored, her faux french accent reverting to Cockney in a single breath. Her copper hair was long, flowing down past her shoulders and Harry couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before. 

“Shouldn’t that be in a… bun, or something?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “Since you’re near food, I mean.”

“I’m not the baker, sir. He’s the one in a hair net.” The girl smiled. 

Her eyes were flinty grey, instead of forest green and, for the first time in a long time, Harry found he liked them. He didn’t care to examine why. Maybe he should have.  Shrugging to himself Harry tuned back in.  


“I’ll bring you your eats. Don’t worry there’ll be no hair in the calcutta.”

Had he said he’d sit at a table today? It couldn’t hurt, he supposed, especially considering the fact he’d already pissed off his waitress once.

Settling into a hard-backed plastic bench by the window, Harry picked up a magazine someone had left on the table, flipping through it mindlessly until a clatter of tableware alerted him to his food.

“Amelia told me I should bring these to you personally…” Harry looked up. The red-faced chef indeed had his blonde locs swept up in a blue disposable hairnet. 

He looked back to Amelia, who gave him a nasty grin. “...Can I ask why?” Harry sounded cautious to his own ears, wondering vaguely if she’d charmed his pastry before deciding she probably wouldn’t risk her job for him.

“Honestly, she said you were being a sour old man and she’d whack you if she did it herself.” The chef pushed a galleon sized slab of butter towards Harry. 

“I don’t need all this, I ordered one pastry.” Harry gestured to the two obvious pastries on his plate. “I must have ordered two by mistake.” He could feel the blush creeping up his neck while the pretty chef waited patiently to be dismissed. 

Harry looked at him again. “Your eyes.” He murmured to himself, thinking. “Sorry.”  


The man looked suddenly startled, his grey eyes going wide with- with what? Harry couldn’t tell. “You… look like someone I know- knew. I really am sorry.” 

Draco breathed out. “I’m on my break in a minute, would you mind if I stole your extra pastry?” 

Harry gazed at the empty seat in front of him, only half joking when he found himself answering the question with “You can join me if you’d like.”

* * *

Harry watched without a word as Draco sat, unpicking the Bobby pins from his hair to let them scatter on his side of the table. The silence grew between them, as Draco sectioned his hair, deftly weaving the strands into a plait before finally looking up. 

“So,” Draco started as if they’d been talking for years, “what did you do to my waitress?”

Harry lifted his hand to scratch his ear before thinking the better of it. “Uhh, I told her she should tie her hair back and then she laughed at your hair net.” He smiled without really thinking and Draco blushed.

“I also hate my hair nets but Heath and Safety prohibits a lot of things… including spell damage”. He finished, watching Harry dismantle his bread as if he’d find anything other than chocolate in it. “Why’d you get two of these?” He picked up the chocolate croissant, taking a bite.

“I had a bad breakup.” Harry shrugged, ignoring Draco when he almost choked. 

“It’s all over the prophet anyway.” He continued as if Draco wasn’t listening.

“Wait,” Draco swallowed, “is that why you come here?”

“What?”

“Because we don’t harass you..” Draco watched Amelia’s backside - along with the rest of her - retreat from earshot as she slammed the door to the back room. “Well… not for autographs, anyway.”

“Oh fuck.” Harry let crumbs fall down his chin, reaching for a napkin as he did so. “I keep forgetting… I did it earlier as well.”

He held his hand across the table. “I’m Harry Potter, the real one.. not the one from the Prophet.”

_ Shit. _

Draco looked at Harry’s outstretched palm and back to his face, trying to detect the irony of it all. When he found none he clasped Harry’s hand. “I’m sorry you didn’t recognise me the first time. Hello, Harry. I’m the new and improved Draco Malfoy.”

Three for a Girl

By the third magpie, Harry starts to get suspicious. This one is an iridescent blue, perching itself on the iron railings of Harry’s squeaky gate. Every time Harry goes through it though, it flies off to sit next to the second magpie on his window ledge. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d say it was offended.

He relayed this information to Hermione and Ron over wine and vegetable quesadillas, while staring at a newly erected bookcase Ron had built for his wife.

“Think you could make me something, Ron?” Harry nodded to the bookshelf.

“Sure, what’re you thinking?”

“A birdhouse… for seven.”

Hermione was quick to tell him he was being ridiculous. 

“The wine tastes different.” He commented instead, not looking at her. 

“Oh, yeah it’s non-alcoholic.” Ron stuffed a forkful of floury tortilla into his mouth before touching Hermione’s arm, a kind, brief gesture.

“And you’re drinking it?” 

Sharing a look, they put their cutlery down; Hermione placing hers carefully on her napkin while Ron’s clattered onto his half empty plate. It was practiced, Harry realised. 

Harry shifted in his seat, almost expecting another Ginny rant, even if that was all water under the bridge, Harry could never be quite sure. Ron hadn’t spoken to him for a week when he found out. Even Hermione had asked if he was sure about it all. 

“Look I-”

“Sh. Harry.” Ron nodded towards his wife as she absentmindedly toyed with her ring. 

“I’m pregnant.” Hermione cracked a smile.

“Well.” Harry schooled his face into a less shocked expression, even though he felt like he should have seen it coming. He was doing that a lot lately. “Congratulations?” He’d never been very good at things like this.

“Are you okay, mate?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, yeah! I’m happy for both of you, really. It’s just a shock.” He laughed, nervously before the information really sank in. His best mates were going to have a baby. A real life laughing, crying, human baby. “Can I-”

Hermione stood up, nodding as she pushed her chair towards Harry, sitting on it again when she was next to him. 

He reached out tentatively, placing his hand atop her dress. 

“It could take a while, he doesn’t kick too much… it happens more after eating though.”

“It’ll be a girl.” Harry said. “Just you wait.”

“ _ Harry!” _

Ron put his cutlery down again, inching slowly backwards until he found the door handle to the back garden. “Gotta go, mate.”

“Why! Don’t leave me!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “And why is that Ronald?”

Looking panicked, Ron glanced towards the shed. “Woodworking project.”

“What project?” 

Ron scanned the room, looking pleadingly at Harry. “Um. Birdhouse. See you later guys”. 

Hermione snorted. “Can you believe we’ve been married for five years?” She said fondly.

“Blimey. That long I-” Harry gasped as he felt a push against his hand.  _ “I felt it.” _ His playful banter gave way to awe as he watched Hermione caress her stomach.

She smiled at him, her eyes bright. “If you’re right about this, I’ll personally give you a galleon.”

“Five galleons.”

“Fine, but it’s coming out of your birdhouse money.” 

Four for a Boy

“Do you even  _ like  _ working for the ministry?” It was their third date, although Harry didn’t know that. 

“I’ve never really thought about it.” He spooned another sugar into his coffee, “shouldn't you be off your break by now?” 

Two spots of colour appeared high on Dracos cheeks, pink and obvious compared to his pale face. “I took the day off.”

“You made us cupcakes...” Harry trails off, the implication hanging in the air. 

“Yes. Well. Don’t expect me to always make you food.”

“You’ll have to if I keep coming here.” 

Draco folded his arms across his chest, quickly unfolding them so he could reach across the table and swipe his thumb across Harry’s cheek. “Icing.” He said, too quickly. 

“Do you want to-” Harry’s phone rang, multiple short buzzes. “Oh Merlin, I have to take this.”

“Work?”

Harry grimaced at the screen. “Teddy.”

Draco’s face didn’t betray any emotion as Harry made his way to the door, flipping his phone open before he was even outside.

* * *

“Unrelated question, how do I take care of a child?”  
  


Harry hadn’t even parked himself on the seat as he reached for another cupcake, his coffee going cold beside him. 

“You’ve  _ just  _ sat back down, honestly. Also, since when is Teddy using a phone, he’s, what? Nine?”   
  


“Yeah it’s… I missed him when he and Andromeda left, so she got him a phone. It was for my benefit more than his.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Are you going to tell me why you asked me how to take care of a child?” 

“You’re  _ Draco Malfoy _ ,  _ you just happen to know everything.” _

_ “ _ Keep your voice down.” Draco hissed before giggling. “Your accent is horrible.”

“Your french is horrible.” Harry muttered. 

“ _ Excusez-vous, quoi?” _

“What?” 

Draco rolled his eyes again, this time wielding a cake fork through his long fingers. “Never mind. You were saying?”

“I know nothing about kids.”

“Feed him, entertain him, make sure he naps or he’ll get grumpy.” Draco said it as if he were reading from a tick-list.

“You really are cousins.” Harry snorted.

“First cousin, once removed.”

“Alright, alright. Put your fork down before you take someone’s eye out.”

Draco raised his eyebrow, placing his cake fork delicately against the gold rim of his saucer. “Just because you don’t know what you’re doing with your hands, Potter.” 

_ By early evening, a forth magpie had moved into his back garden. _

Five for Silver

“I think someone I know is flirting with me, but I can’t tell.” 

“Ask them. You missed a weed, dear.” Maureen pointed to a small green cluster near the slabs of paving that made up the Williams’ walkway. 

“Thanks.” Kneeling down Harry focused on talking to the weed rather than Maureen, it was easier. “I can’t just ask him what if he says he wasn’t, and I end up looking like an idiot.”

“Didn’t you say he made you cake?”

“He works at a bakery - it’s his job.”

“On his day off?” Harry could hear the smile in Maureen’s voice. It sounded triumphant.   
  


* * *

He saw the tray of lemonade before he saw Joans ballet flats.

“Well, uh, yeah but I’m sure he was just being nice.” 

Joan swiped the lemonade away from him. “I’m going to find this boy and apologise to him, since you’ve managed to be oblivious to all the dates he prepared.”

“ _ He did what?”  _

Maureen, cackling, rocked so far back in her lawn chair she almost fell into the wisteria. 

“Maureen Gwynnyth Williams! Go do something useful and get the boy some flowers!”

“You’re serious?” Harry blanched. 

“Flowers. For you. To give to him.” There was a tea towel tucked into Joan’s pocket, which she flipped over several times until she could swat Harry with it. “How you’re expected to look after a child for a week is beyond me, you  _ cannot  _ read body language.”

“You’ve never even met him!”

“And yet I know a darn sight more than you.” Joan’s white hair lifted in the wind, “give him this. It’ll work, I promise.” 

Slipping a cool piece of silver into Harry’s palm she met her girlfriend at the door, kissing her on the nose before moving back into the shade of her hallway. 

Maureen had returned with a bouquet, sitting back down in her lawn chair to tie it up with twine. “Give him these.”

Harry smiled sheepishly before taking the bouquet from her. 

“Thank you. I’m sure he’ll love them.”

He felt his heart lift on his way to work, fingering the piece of silver in his pocket as he walked. 

* * *

“What’s this?” Draco eased his way from behind the display case, pulling his hair net back down his forehead, eyes bright. “I look like a mess, don’t say anything.”

“You never look like a mess, it’s pretty refreshing, actually.” Harry smiled awkwardly, pulling the flowers from behind his back. “Uh, my neighbours suggested… you might like these?” He held his breath as Draco took the flowers from him.

“Harry! Let me find a vase!” And with that Draco rushed off, leaving Harry slightly flustered and bemused amidst several smiling waitresses. 

Draco came back with a plastic cup full of water. “Do you have the invocation?”

“The what?” 

Draco almost slapped himself in the forehead.

“Little round thing. This big?” He moved his forefinger and thumb a couple of inches apart while positioning the cup on a table, leaving the flowers on their side. “It’s silver?”

Oh! This?” Harry pressed the object in Dracos palm. It flared green upon impact and Draco gasped, his eyes shining like a child’s. 

Harry watched the whole ritual play out as if he wasn’t even there, the way Draco placed the glowing coin in the water, watching him undo the twine carefully so not to break it - as if he would. 

Placing the flowers in the cup, Draco stepped back, he was so careful, adjusting them until they were perfect. 

The cup flared changing from plastic to styrofoam to glass in the blink of an eye.

The vase was beautiful. It was a light blue, opaque, with a thin neck. The purple flowers hung over them like they belonged there. A long life charm glittered around the wisteria, clinging to the orchids 

Harry was going to kill Joan for not telling him she was a witch. Maybe she was right about him being a little dense. 

* * *

“Did you say your neighbors picked these?”

“Yeah, they have a garden.” Harry shrugged.

“Is this all they grow?”

“Flowers? Yeah. But they have loads, different purple ones, I couldn’t tell you all the names.”

“I could.” Draco smiled.

“Shove it up your ass, Malfoy.”

Draco barked a laugh before steering him toward the window where the flowers now resided. “No, you idiot, look.”

“What?”

“There are three types of flowers here.” Draco said gently, pointing at each in turn. “Wisteria, orchid, purple lilac.”

“Aren’t all lilacs purple?”

“No… white lilacs symbolise innocence.”

“What do purple lilacs symbolise?”

Draco broke into a grin. “Purple lilacs symbolise the first signs of love… I’m not finished, orchids symbolise support and tenderness, general sensitivity, if you will. The wisteria symbolises beauty, love and strength.”

He turned to Harry. “You think I’m strong?”

“Emotionally? I guess so.” He was painfully aware of how deep the conversation was getting for such an exposed place. He was also all too aware of how early in the morning it was as the sun dipped just over the horizon. “Look.”

They watched in comfortable silence as the sky faded from pink,  to orange,  to blue, side by side and, for a moment, it was Draco and Harry against the world. 

* * *

“Shit, I’m late for work.”  


Draco was snapped into action as Harry said the words.   
“Someone throw me a muffin!”

It was Amelia who spelled one over, shaking her head at the lack of magic Harry and Draco seemed to do in one another’s company. “Take this before you go.”

Harry gingerly took the muffin. “What’s in it.”

“Hair.” Draco said sarcastically. Harry pulled a face. “All spice, leave.” 

“You can’t kick me out! I’m like half of your sales.”

“Yeah and I won’t have your custom if you’re fired, go away.”

“Fine. Come with me later. I’m getting a birdhouse... and I need more feed. I’ll tell you later.”

* * *

  
Draco eyed Hermione carefully as she waltzed through the kitchen carrying a seven story birdhouse. “Are you sure you should be doing that?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” She snapped, putting the birdhouse down with more force than strictly necessary.

Harry and Ron converged in the kitchen at the same moment from different rooms, eyes widening in horror at the scene. 

“Malfoy… Harry says you’re good with flowers.” Ron ventured carefully.

“I can take a look at your garden, yeah.” Draco moved his foot against his ankle, a nervous habit. He looked at Hermione. “If I’m allowed?”

“Yes, yes, fine. I need to talk to Harry anyway.” She watched Draco catch Harry’s eye. “ _ Alone.” _

* * *

“The scan came back,” Hermione smiled at him wryly. “Your birdhouse is down to twenty galleons.”

“What. Why?” 

“The bet, Harry.” 

“Oh my god.”

She nodded through the window, to where Draco was fingering a single red flower bud while waving his other hand excitedly at Ron. 

“We think we’re going to call her Rose.”

_ The fifth magpie moved in that night. _

Six for Gold

Gringotts wasn’t usually packed. Gringotts was never packed unless… 

Harry had time to let out a single groan before a multitude of children swarmed through the doors. 

“They’re like bees”, Draco murmured in his ear as Teddy bounded up to them. His hair was a frizzy auburn, the colour of the leaves swirling in the cool air outside. 

September was always going to be a hassle but with Teddy turning ten it was even more so. He’d come to visit every so often throughout the summer and had lived to tell the tale. Harry actively shuddered at the memory of Teddy trying to Floo his grandmother by sitting _completely inside_ the grate of his fire. At that moment Harry realised why Andromeda had given him a phone.

“Hi Uncle Harry! Wotcher, Draco!” Draco smiled, a sad cloud passing over his face for the briefest of moments. 

“Hey Ted. What’s new?”

Harry smiled as he quietly linked hands with Draco, who was asking Teddy what seemed to be all the right questions, judging by the excessive spiral of chatter Teddy kept up all the way to the vault.

“Uncle Harry, do you still have the magpies?” 

“I still have the magpies.” He said as a goblin deposited his galleons into a string purse. 

“All five?”

Harry’s smile crinkled around the edges. “They’ll be six the next time you come round.”

“Nana!” Teddy’s voice was loud and matter-of-fact as he strode back across the tiles to Andromeda. “Can I go feed Harry’s birds?” 

“If Harry says-” Andromeda watched Harry and Draco weave back through the crowds of children. “If Harry and Draco say it’s okay.”

“Why does Draco have to say it’s okay, he called me a bee.” Teddy folded his arms across his chest, an almost perfect imitation of his lanky cousin.

“Because I say so.” Harry smiled.

Teddy frowned, looking from Andromeda to Harry to Draco. When he was satisfied he nodded firmly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Draco Malfoy I’d like to come to Harry’s house and feed his birds.” Draco blinked in surprise. “Please.” Teddy finished proudly. 

Nearing the entrance to the street, Draco swiped a leaf as it fell. Touching the leaf to both of Teddy’s shoulders he made a pronouncement on the steps of Gringotts Bank. 

“I hereby let Teddy Lupin feed Harry’s birds”

Teddy collapsed into giggles. Sticking his tongue out at Andromeda who looked like she was about to scold him before thinking better of it.

“Home by dark.”

“That’s not fair it’s already dark.” And indeed, fat grey clouds were already roiling overhead, followed by distant thunder. 

“Tomorrow, then. Teddy?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Upon finding the next magpie was another iridescent one - this time, a striking emerald - Teddy’s hair had been green for a week. 

Seven for a Secret, Never to be Told

“I like you.” Draco said through a yawn, the sun streaming through their bedroom window. The squawking of magpies made him shove a pillow over his head. “Don’t they sleep?”

“Don’t you?” Harry asked in lieu of a reply. Draco had spent the night at the window of Sirius’ old bedroom, staring out over the garden where seven magpies slept in their own wooden cocoons.

Harry watched Draco remove the pillow from his face, squinting as the sun hit his eyes. 

His bare chest flooded with weak sunlight for a split-second before he turned over, blonde locs fanning out over the pillow like little hillocks of sand. The sun carved a line through the dimples at the bottom of Draco’s back as Harry stared. 

After a moment, Harry nodded at him. “I like you too. Very much.”

“Don’t tell anyone, Potter.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it… Draco.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Late-Georgian/Early Victorian rhyme I was taught as a child.


End file.
